The Body
by ButterscotchCandybatch
Summary: Sherlock asks for John. Not to get him a pen, or make him tea, just John. He apparently wants John's body. On the couch. Right now. For a case, of course. Asexual Sherlock. Not-so-asexual John. No longer a one-shot, this is now a multi-chapter fic on aspects of having a relationship with someone who is asexual. Mostly John's POV. Rated M for Johnlock smut. Now COMPLETE. I think.
1. Chapter 1

**The Body**

_Sherlock asks for John. Not to get him a pen, or make him tea, just John. He apparently wants John's body. On the couch. Right now. For a case, of course. Asexual Sherlock. Not-so-asexual John. One-shot. John's POV. Rated M for Johnlock smut._

* * *

"John! JOHN!"

Sherlock's voice echoed up the stairs from the living room. John had retreated to his own bedroom with his laptop when Sherlock's reconstruction of the crime scene had taken over the entire floor, coffee table and sofa. The kitchen was out of the question. That had the permanent set up for experiments and Sherlock's microscope which probably cost more than all of John's possessions combined. Sherlock had also threatened him with death if he touched it. So what was the shouting about then? If Sherlock wanted tea after driving John out of his own flat he could bloody well make it himself. Not that he ever did.

"What?" John shouted back. "Get your own bloody pen!"

"No, I need _you_."

Hmm. That was unusual. Sherlock often needed his laptop, his phone or for him to do something. John could not offhand recall Sherlock ever asking for _him_ before. This was something new.

Cursing his own curiosity, which was not in Sherlock's league but nevertheless quite considerable, John descended the stairs and poked his head into the living room. It looked rather like a paper replica of a snow storm had taken place and even the walls were covered with sticky notes.

"Case going well?" he asked.

"No." Sherlock frowned. "I'm missing something."

"What?"

"A body. The case involves two dead bodies so far, but it only makes sense if there was a third one. That's what I need you for."

"_What?"_ John couldn't help recalling Sally's opening comment the first time he ever met her. _One day we'll standing around a body and it'll be him that put it there._

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "John, don't be ridiculous. I'm not going to kill you, I just need your body. There. On the couch. Should be quite comfortable actually. You can bring your laptop or a book if you like. It might take a while."

John sighed, but he already knew he was going to give in. Didn't he always do what Sherlock wanted? Impersonating a dead body was just one more item for the blog. His followers would probably think it was funny. They didn't know the half of the funny stuff Sherlock made him do. He just wouldn't mention that it might take three or four hours, or five, or eight…

"Hurry up, please," Sherlock was tapping his foot with impatience, but he had said please. It must be important.

"Righty-o. I'll just grab my laptop and be right there." John replied. He darted up to his room and grabbed both his laptop and his current spy novel. Experience had shown him that Sherlock's _might take a while was_ most people's _don't expect to eat or sleep for the next two days._ He ran back down the stairs. "OK, where do you want me?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "On the couch, I already said that. I do hate repeating myself."

"All right, all right, I'm going. Just sitting on the couch be all right for you?" John was picking his way through the papers on the floor trying not to disturb anything important.

"For now," was Sherlock's not particularly reassuring reply.

# # # # # # # # # #

After three hours of Sherlock huffing around the room rearranging papers and adding more sticky notes to the wall, John had finished updating his blog, checked his emails, read ten chapters of his book and was ready for a cup of tea.

"I'm going to make a cup of tea, want one?" he asked. No answer from Sherlock, which was typical. John stood up and apparently the rustle of his clothes as he stood was louder than his actual voice, because Sherlock immediately whipped his head around and frowned.

"Where do you think you are going?" Sherlock asked, disapprovingly.

John rolled his eyes. "For a cup of tea, to light the fire as I'm freezing and maybe a piss." He added sarcastically, "If that's all right with you."

"Just tea for me, and don't step on any of the papers or scuff anything around. I'm at a very delicate stage."

_Delicate_, snorted John to himself. _Princess would be more like it. _

Despite it all, he made two cups of tea before returning to the sofa. It was much warmer in the small living room now that the fire was lit, and with the tea warming him from the inside as well, John decided to remove his jumper.

"Yes, good idea," said Sherlock.

"What?" replied John.

"I'm ready for you to impersonate the naked body. That's why you were taking your jumper off, wasn't it?"

"Er, no, actually," said John. "It's just getting a bit warm in here…"

"Anyway, I need you to take all the rest of your clothes off now, please." Sherlock rolled his eyes at John's stubborn glare. "All right, you can finish your cup of tea first."

Sherlock stalked into the kitchen as John undressed. John gave thanks for small mercies. He stripped down to his underwear but left his pants on. Sherlock couldn't expect him to get completely naked for a bloody crime scene reconstruction. He wasn't easy. He wasn't gay. The pants were staying _on_.

Sherlock came back from the kitchen waving two jars in his hands. "Strawberry jam or tomato sauce?"

"What?"

"Blood, John! I need to recreate the blood spatters on your body. Do you want me to make them with tomato sauce (probably more lifelike but rather more runny) or strawberry jam, which might be sweeter but stickier to remove?"

"Er…" John's brain was short circuiting with the idea of Sherlock licking the strawberry jam off his body. "I'll have the jam, thanks."

Sherlock shrugged as if it made no difference to him and opened the jam jar. "Lie down on the sofa, John." He gave a rather sinister smile. "This won't hurt a bit."

# # # # # # # # # #

After two hours of lying on the couch with his eyes closed while Sherlock daubed various parts of his body with the jam, John was getting fed up. His original titillation had worn off and now he was just bored.

"Sherlock."

"Ssshh!"

"Sherlock!"

"I'm thinking, lie still and be quiet."

"No, I won't!" John was getting pissed off now. "I'm not going to lie back any longer and think of England. I've had enough and I want a shower."

"I'll make it worth your while."

"What?"

"Did you think I wouldn't deduce what your initial thoughts were when I asked you to lie down naked on the sofa and let me paint your body with jam?" Sherlock still had his eyes closed but he smiled as if he could see John's blush.

"I thought you were asexual, married to your work and all that?" John blurted.

"Well, yes. I am, but you're not. I don't mind. My suggestion was that if you can lie still for one more hour, I would make it worth your while. You invest more time than that in getting those boring women to sleep with you."

"Are you suggesting what I think you are?"

"I'm suggesting licking the jam off you, then giving you a hand job either on the sofa or in the shower, whichever you prefer." Sherlock's voice was completely calm and even, just as if he were discussing whether John preferred his tea with milk or lemon.

"Sofa." John managed to choke out, before he closed his eyes again. Thank God he'd left his pants on. At least he could pretend that just the idea of Sherlock's tongue on him wasn't giving him a massive hard-on. Or that Sherlock was unaware of it. Denial was a wonderful state.

John drifted in a semi-delirious state of warmth and anticipation. Sherlock was going to…

"Oh!" Sherlock gave his usual orgasmic gasp of realization. "Of course! It was the cousin! John you are so clever, so perfect. Time for your reward, I think…"

Then a warm, wet tongue was being gently applied to his body, cleaning off the jam from his shoulder, his neck, crossing his chest and moving down his belly… Long tapered fingers were dipping into his pants and he was involuntarily lifting his hips. Dammit, were his pants coming off? Yes, yes they definitely were. But oh, it was worth it to feel those long, smooth violinist's fingers wrapping around his eager cock. Sherlock was jerking him off, and just the thought of it nearly made him come on the spot. He opened his eyes and looked down at where Sherlock's hand was wrapped around his dick. Oh yes, this was really happening.

"Close your eyes," Sherlock snapped.

"Why?"

"I just don't like you looking at me while I'm doing this. I need to concentrate."

"You have done this before, haven't you?"

"Yes, of course!"

John sneaked a peek at Sherlock under his eyelids. Was Sherlock blushing?

"Have you ever done this to someone else, I mean?"

"I don't see why that is relevant. It's the same motions, just at a different angle."

"Oh God, stop!"

John groaned as Sherlock removed his hand from his leaking prick.

"Why?" Sherlock looked a bit disappointed.

"Because if it's your first time with someone else, I should make it good for you. I don't want to just come all over your hand and then go off and have a shower."

Sherlock shrugged. "That was my plan. I have to call Lestrade anyway, but it can wait until you are… done. I've already had my reward – you lay still for me for over five hours."

"That's… kind of sick you know. You're saying that I played a dead body for you and _that's_ what earned me a hand job from you?"

"Problem?"

John glanced at Sherlock's trousers which were flat and undisturbed. "I suppose not. Let's go then." John lay back on the sofa again.

"Please close your eyes though. It's weird that you are watching me do this."

"Why? I like it. Your hand on me is hot."

"Fine! Just don't talk to me, it's distracting."

The undistracted Sherlock then returned to rubbing his hand up and down John's erect cock, giving a little twist of his wrist around the head that had John moaning and closing his eyes despite his intention to watch. John was panting now and he could feel his tip getting wet as his balls drew up close to his body. He glanced down again just in time to see Sherlock lick his lips.

"You can kiss me there, if you want to." John ventured.

"That doesn't sound very sanitary." Sherlock returned.

John shrugged. "Up to you. I can come like this. I just saw you licking your lips and thought you might be wondering what I taste like."

Sherlock tilted his head to one side, as if considering the idea. John closed his eyes again, hoping that might encourage him to… _Yes!_ A warm wet stripe was being licked up the length of his cock and lips were tentatively closing around his tip. He bucked his hips up involuntarily, and heard a noise of protest from Sherlock.

"Sorry!" he gasped. "Didn't mean to do that."

Sherlock only hummed in reply, and oh God, the vibrations reverberated from his prick through his entire body. He couldn't help giving shallow thrusts with his hips, but Sherlock had one hand firmly around the base of his cock now, and was controlling the depth of penetration into his mouth. Sherlock gave a swirl of his tongue around the head and John gasped and groaned.

"Sherlock! I'm going to… Ah!" Then John was climaxing, lightning flashing across behind his closed eyelids as blinding pleasure whited out his mind.

He flopped back on the couch again, his mind pleasantly blank and his body buzzing lightly. Mmm, nice. Except that his stomach felt very wet. He looked down at the mess on his belly.

"Sherlock, did you spit my come out on my stomach?"

"Well, you didn't expect me to swallow it, did you? It doesn't taste very nice, and you said you were going to have a shower anyway." Sherlock was inspecting the mess on his hands, and then rose and went into the kitchen to wash them. "Hurry up, I'm going to call Lestrade and he'll probably want us to go to the Yard and tell him what I've discovered."

"Which is what?"

"That you like it when I give you head, and you blush charmingly when you come, but that it doesn't taste very nice."

"Sherlock!"

"And that one mouthful of ejaculate hardly constitutes a meal. Now that the case is over, I'm a bit hungry. Angelo's?"

"I impersonate a dead body, then you suck me off, then we go out on a dinner date. Does any of that sound a bit strange to you?"

"No."

"Then it's all fine. Let's do it."

* * *

_Don't know why I wrote this. I was lying in bed (alone, alas) as I came home from hospital yesterday and this little scenario popped into my head. Not sure why I'm so taken by the idea of asexual Sherlock doing sexual things to John, but it seems that's how I roll. If you like it, please review! If you want to see more of my asexual Sherlock, have a look at "After the Great Game"._


	2. Chapter 2

**The Body, Chapter 2**

"John! JOHN!"

Sherlock's voice echoed up the stairs from the kitchen.

"What now?" John shouted back. "I'm busy!"

"I need you!"

John sighed and descended the stairs to the kitchen. On the table were two bowls of water, one had a pair of hands in it. Dead hands, not attached to anything. Just floating in the water. Sherlock was standing by the table with an anxious smile which John found highly suspicious.

"What do you need me for?"

"This is a very elegant experiment John. The two bowls of water have been chilled to exactly the temperature of the Thames on the night in question. I want to compare the effects of prolonged immersion on living and deceased hand tissue. It will determine very precisely the time of death." Sherlock pointed to the chair in front of the second bowl of water. "Sit please."

John sighed. "How prolonged are we talking about?"

Sherlock smiled, scenting capitulation. "Oh, about three hours should do it, definitely no more than four."

"Does it have to be both hands? Or can I hold a book or use my laptop with the other?"

"Two hands would be ideal, please John." Sherlock's voice took on a wheedling tone.

John folded his arms over his chest. "What will you give me if I do it?"

Sherlock looked puzzled. "Isn't being part of an elegant scientific experiment which will determine a man's guilt or innocence enough for you?"

"Nope." John raised one eyebrow. "If you expect me to sit still with both my hands in freezing cold water for over four hours, I'm going to want some kind of… compensation."

"Oh, very well. What do you want?" Sherlock was pulling out the kitchen chair and arranging the bowl of water in front of it.

"Um, I've got a vibrator upstairs." John blushed. "Would you be willing to use it on me?"

"Of course, John, that would be just fine. Now, sit here and put both hands in the water please." Sherlock was rubbing his hands together, clearly thrilled to get his _elegant_ experiment under way.

# # # # # # # # # #

It ended up taking nearly five hours before Sherlock was satisfied and John was released. By then his hands were completely numb as well as looking more like prunes than hands.

"It's because of the osmotic effects of the water, John."

"I know that! I'm a doctor, remember? Now I'm going for a warm shower to see if I can stave off frostbite and get some circulation back in my hands."

"Thank you John, that was very helpful. I'm going to call Lestrade with my findings. This is a bit complicated to text."

"When I get out of the shower I'm going to my room. Shall I meet you there?"

"Mmmm, yes, fine." Sherlock was already absorbed in his phone.

# # # # # # # # # #

John waited rather anxiously in his room. This was a bit different from last time. The jam blow job (did that make it a jam job?) had been spontaneous. Or at least, he thought it had. Who ever really knew about Sherlock and what he did or didn't plan? The man was always at least ten steps ahead of everyone else, and at least eight steps ahead of John.

Ah, fuck it. He had agreed and now John was freshly showered and waiting in his room with a vibrator, lots of lube and was about to have an amazing sexual encounter with the brilliant and gorgeous Sherlock Holmes. He was still not exactly sure what _kind_ of sexual encounter, but considering how well the man did everything he put his mind to, it was sure to be amazing.

He heard Sherlock's steps on the stairs and tried to look alluring, or at least relaxed and confident. If only he knew where to put his hands…

Sherlock opened the bedroom door and smiled slyly at John. "You don't need to put on that Look for me, John. I'm not one of your girlfriends. I believe the saying is 'a sure thing'." John could hear the air quotes falling around the unusual expression in Sherlock's mouth.

"Yeah, I dunno. It just didn't seem very romantic to just hand you the vibrator and lube and say 'here, go for it'." John blushed.

Sherlock shrugged. "If you were looking for romance, John, I'm afraid that is the one thing I can't provide."

"No, of course not. No, I wasn't expecting that." John rigidly controlled his expression of polite neutrality.

"So, hand it over then." Sherlock was at his most brisk and efficient. "After you come, I need to head down to Bart's. I'm meeting Lestrade there with the case files to confirm my theory. Lestrade won't mind if I am ten minutes or so late, but let's get cracking shall we?"

John could feel his excitement ebbing away. Somehow it all seemed just too clinical. He didn't think he could get turned on like this, knowing that Sherlock was going through the motions while watching the clock. He sighed. "Never mind. Just go to Bart's. Don't keep Lestrade waiting."

Sherlock brightened up. "You sure?"

John pulled his computer onto his lap. Unfortunately, there was no longer an erection that needed concealment. "No problem. I need to put this case on the blog anyway. Go. Have fun."

"Excellent. Thank you, John. I owe you and I won't forget." Sherlock whirled away down the stairs.

John opened a new post for his blog and sat staring at the empty screen. Sherlock owed him, and he was a man of honour and would redeem his word at some point. That should make John happy. So why didn't he feel happy?

# # # # # # # # # #

The tea had been drunk, the take-away eaten and the leftovers put back in the fridge, and Sherlock still was not back. He probably would not eat the leftovers, anyway. John did not like to eat food out of their fridge half the time, but he still could not bring himself to throw perfectly good food in the bin. He'd wait until it grew mould and then throw it out.

John settled himself in front of the telly and thought seriously about opening a beer, or perhaps something even stronger. He did not like to drink alone. As a doctor he knew it was a seriously dangerous habit even without a family history of alcoholism, but dammit, he needed something to take the edge off. He thought about opening up some porn on his laptop and having a wank by himself but somehow the thought did not have the appeal it usually did.

He amused himself for a while trying to think of a new password for his computer that Sherlock would be unable to guess. Then he kicked himself for being an idiot. He was thinking of Sherlock while Sherlock was most definitely not thinking of him. Sherlock had run off to the Work, leaving John behind. Sherlock loved the Work. Sherlock was married to the Work and John was… what? A bit on the side? Or worse, a hobby to kill time when Sherlock was bored?

John was _not_ mooning and sighing over a self-proclaimed sociopath who had given him one amazing blow job and then blown him off. It was unreasonable to expect an asexual to be interested in doing anything like that anyway. Even if Sherlock had seemed to find the whole thing intriguing at the time. John sighed.

OK, he _was_ sighing over Sherlock but he did not have to be totally pathetic about it by waiting up or getting drunk over him. No, he would quietly and sensibly go to bed. And he was not going to cry into his pillow or anything so juvenile as that. His sinuses were playing up and making his nose run, that was all.

# # # # # # # # # #

John woke to a warm arm snaking around his waist and cold feet pressing against his. "Sherlock?" he mumbled. "What time is it?"

"Five in the morning. You don't need to get up yet." Sherlock replied. "Go back to sleep, John." He tucked his arm beneath John's head and curled up close behind him.

John relaxed and closed his eyes and completely failed to go back to sleep. His mind was racing again with questions. Why was Sherlock in his bed? This had never happened before, what did it mean? Was Sherlock going to have sex with him? Or was this a completely platonic climb-into-bed-and-cuddle? Scratch that last question, that was stupid.

"John, stop thinking so loudly, I can't sleep." Sherlock complained.

"You hardly ever sleep anyway." John retorted.

"All the more reason I need to now!"

"So, is the case over, then?" John ventured.

"Yes." Sherlock sighed with satisfaction. "I took my findings to Lestrade and narrowed down the suspects to two. We arrested both of them, but on further questioning the wife had nothing to do with it. Your contribution was pivotal to solving the case, John."

"Is that why you are here now?" John asked.

"Yes, but I had not realized that so much time had passed. I thought it was still late at night rather than early morning. So I decided to make myself ready for your reward but to let you sleep until you woke of your own accord."

"I'm awake now."

"Yes, thank you for stating the obvious. Does that mean you wish to engage in sexual activity?"

John winced. "Sherlock, that's pretty… blunt."

"I thought it was rather to the point, actually. Never mind. Let me try again."

Sherlock leaned forward and kissed John full on the mouth. His lips were warm and the pressure was just right. There was no tongue, no mouth opening at all, just firm lips on his own. The kisses then moved along his jaw to his ear and a warm breath huffed wordlessly in his ear.

"Wh-what are you doing?" John stuttered.

"Giving you your reward. That should be obvious, even to your placid mind, John."

"What happened to ten minutes with the vibrator then off to Bart's?"

"Those circumstances no longer apply."

John pulled away from Sherlock's kisses in order to look properly into his face. "What happened? What has changed? Don't bullshit me, Sherlock. Something is different."

Sherlock sighed and flopped over onto his back. "The hand experiment was incredibly useful, and I am aware that you participated at considerable personal inconvenience. I wanted to reward you adequately, yet you did not seem pleased with the reward that you yourself had selected. I decided I needed further information in this area, and we had quite a bit of time waiting at the Yard for the suspects to be brought in."

"You asked _Lestrade_ for advice about… seducing me?" John was horrified.

"Of course not, John. I just asked him the best way to use a vibrator to reward a sexual partner for a particularly stunning performance. I didn't mention any names."

John groaned and hid his face in his pillow. "Oh God, he'll know you meant me. And you mentioned the vibrator? Christ, how can I ever walk in there again?"

Sherlock was silent for a moment. "He did look rather like he'd swallowed a live fish," he admitted. "But if the damage is done already, don't you want to see what I've learned?"

John was still moaning into the pillow, "Lestrade knows, so the whole of New Scotland Yard knows that you are buggering me with a vibrator. Oh God, how can I ever go back there?"

Sherlock sniffed. "I don't see why you care so much what people think. They will all think I'm gay now, but you don't see me moaning about it."

John gave him a disbelieving look. "You licked jam off me and gave me a blow job, and now you are about to stick a vibrator up my arse and you're saying you are _not at all gay? _Surely this is at least a _little_ bit gay?"

Sherlock sighed with equal parts annoyance and resignation. "No, I'm not gay at all. I'm doing those things to you because you asked me to, either directly or indirectly. You already know, or at least strongly suspect, that I'm asexual. It doesn't give _me_ any sexual pleasure to do these things. I do them because _you_ like them and you did me a favour which I am now returning. Fair's fair. Speaking of which, are we going to do this or not? I have some other experiments I should be getting on with if you have changed your mind."

John was still floundering with the influx of new ideas.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "John, asexuals make up about one per cent of the population. I'm sure you have come across some of us before, though maybe you didn't know it. I'm not repulsed by sexual activity, I'm not depressed and I've never been raped. If that answers all your questions can we _please_ get on with this?"

John laughed suddenly, and leaned over to kiss Sherlock lightly on the lips. "All right then, since you asked me so nicely."

Sherlock sprang into action. He kissed John's lips, jaw and neck and worked his way rapidly down to John's nipples. He kissed both of them quickly and kept moving south. John wondered if he was going to… yes, oh yes, he was. John could not help groaning as Sherlock took him into his mouth and tongued him firmly all over the exposed head of his glans. Just as he was starting to think Sherlock had lost track of what was supposed to be going on, he felt the blunt tip of the vibrator pressing at his entrance. His body instinctively tensed as he realized…

"Sherlock, wait, did you put lube on that?"

"Was I supposed to?"

John recoiled, even as Sherlock reached over to the bedside table for lube. "That could really hurt, you know."

"Sorry, I was thinking about something else."

"I'm not even going to ask what you were possibly thinking about that got you distracted in the middle of trying to shove a vibrator up my arse."

"Lestrade, if you must know."

"_What!?"_

"I was thinking about some of the advice he gave me about fellatio, to make it more enjoyable in concert with the use of the vibrator. Nothing you need to be jealous about."

John groaned. "Let's agree not to talk about Lestrade while we are in bed together. Just humour me on this, OK?"

Sherlock hummed his agreement while resuming his gentle kisses on the crown of John's cock. "Ready?" At John's nod he slowly eased the now slicked up vibrator into John. "Relax John, I know what I'm doing. I've read up on the anatomy of the area."

"Uh, really?" John tried not to look surprised.

"Of course. I wouldn't start an experiment without reading up on the background material."

"Mmmm, of course not." John was losing focus on the conversation as he gave himself over to his body's reactions. This was probably the closest he would ever get to Sherlock being inside him and he was determined to enjoy it. Sherlock obviously had understood the anatomical texts he had read and knew how to direct the vibrator towards John's sweet spot. After only a minute or two, he found it and made John buck his hips involuntarily and groan with pleasure.

"Should I switch on the vibrator function now?"

"Oh God, yes."

Sherlock turned on the vibration, just at the lowest setting, and slid the vibrator in and out of John's body slowly. Pressing on his prostate each time and sending waves of intense sensation through John's whole body. John could feel the heat gathering in the centre of his abdomen. It wouldn't take much more…

Then Sherlock leaned down and rubbed the rough side of his tongue all over the head of John's cock, and he was screaming and coming in Sherlock's mouth for the second time…

When John came back to consciousness he pulled Sherlock up against his body to lie next to him. Sherlock had already put the vibrator on the table and apparently had a drink of water.

They kissed lightly and tenderly for a few minutes, until John mumbled, "Open your mouth."

"No."

John opened his eyes. "What? You don't kiss?"

"I'm kissing you already. If you want more than this you're going to have participate in another experiment. A long one, if you want me to engage in further unsanitary practices."

John shook his head. "More unsanitary than sucking on my... Nope, I'm sorry, this is too weird."

"Why? You are prepared to put up with my experiments because you know it makes me happy and gives me satisfaction. You have no desire to design your own experiments but you participate willingly if I tell you what to do. I daresay you would even be prepared to read up a little on the chemistry if you thought it was necessary."

"Well, yes, probably." John shrugged. "I can't think of a reason it would be necessary though."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "I'm just making an analogy. I'll make it even simpler if you need me to. Mycroft likes chocolate cake, you like sex and I like experiments. You would not give up sex for chocolate cake or experiments, would that be fair to say?"

"Er, no."

"I would not give up experiments for either sex or chocolate cake and I neither know nor care about Mycroft's sex life, but I know he doesn't do experiments. Hmm. That analogy didn't quite go as I expected." Sherlock frowned.

"Sex is not like chocolate cake!" John protested. "Sex is an innate human drive, it's not like a simple taste sensation."

Sherlock raised one eyebrow and chuckled darkly, "There is nothing simple about the way Mycroft relates to chocolate cake."

This time John rolled his eyes. "Never mind. I don't care and to be honest I'd rather not know."

Sherlock just looked at John for a moment. "Even if you don't understand, can you accept that this is the way it is? I am happy to please you and give you sexual satisfaction and release, because that is what you like and need. I would like for you to continue to participate in my experiments. I see no reason why we should not continue to trade favours in this way."

John smiled, "I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship."


	3. Chapter 3

**The Body, Chapter 3**

"Sherlock? Are you home?"

John's voice echoed up the stairs from the front door. Sherlock was sitting in the living room buried in his Mind Palace, but John's voice was one of the few sounds that could recall him to the world around him. John's voice today held an unusual note. A tremor? Yes, and his footsteps on the stairs were uneven. Bad day then, very bad.

Sherlock leapt off the couch and went into the kitchen to fill the kettle and switch it on. Tea. John would want tea. Better not make it, but get everything ready for John to go through the calming ritual of making tea himself. Two mugs, one with a splash of milk the other with sugar, two tea bags. Biscuits? Sherlock had a quick look through the cupboards, but no biscuits were to be found.

Then John's voice came from the couch, tired and still with that tremble which Sherlock could not recall hearing more than a few times before. "Sherlock? Could you come here for a minute, please?

Oh dear. John was always more polite than Sherlock himself, but this formality was new. It suggested that John was using the framework of social convention to stop himself from falling apart. This was very bad. It was time to bring out the heavy weaponry. Sherlock strode into the living room and picked up his violin. This was the only way to help John back to sleep after one of his PTSD nightmares, so perhaps it would work to settle his mind after his terrible day. Sherlock started playing one of John's favourite Bach pieces.

"Sherlock, stop. Please, I… I need… Do you have any experiments going?"

Sherlock stopped playing and blinked at John for a moment before putting the pieces together. "I'll let you owe me an experiment for later this week. What do you need?"

"I don't really know," John looked almost on the verge of tears. "Would you just come here and cuddle for a bit?"

"Of course, John. You only needed to ask." Sherlock put the violin back in its case and slid onto the sofa next to John. He opened his arms and John was instantly in them, half lying across his lap and resting his head against Sherlock's chest. Sherlock closed his arms around John and held him as he wept.

The storm was intense, but brief. Soon John was pulling away and wiping his eyes. "Shall I make us some tea?" he asked, apparently rather self-conscious about his breakdown in front of Sherlock.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Sherlock wasn't sure what he would say, but knew that it was the right thing to offer to listen.

"Nah, it wasn't anything in particular. Just a lot of everything. I feel better now." John headed into the kitchen and flicked the kettle on again. There followed the usual reassuring sounds of John making tea. Then John reappeared carrying two mugs. He set them down on the coffee table and flopped back onto the couch, this time at his usual distance from Sherlock.

"OK, so how many hours of impersonating the dead do I owe you now?"

Sherlock gave him a stare. "None."

It was John's turn to stare. "I thought we had an agreement to trade favours?"

"Well, yes, but you haven't asked me to do anything sexual yet."

"Doesn't cuddling on the couch count?"

"No. That's not a sexual activity."

"Wait, I don't think I understand." John was wrinkling up his nose in his usual adorable attempt to think through an issue he found difficult. "So you mean you are prepared to cuddle anytime?"

"Yes."

"Really?"

"Honestly, John, what is so difficult to understand about this? Sex-obsessed as you are, I'm sure even you would not define cuddling on the couch as sexual activity?"

"No, but… I didn't think you were, well… _into_ that."

Sherlock shrugged. "I wasn't. But now… with you… I don't mind."

John sat up a bit more and ran his hands through his hair. "I think I'm going to need you to set some ground rules about this… relationship."

Sherlock nodded.

"_Is_ this a relationship?"

Sherlock shrugged again, rather uncomfortably. "You have more experience in this area than I do. Would you say it is?"

John huffed out a laugh. "I dunno either. I guess it is if we want it to be. We live together, work together and if we're going to cuddle on the couch on a regular basis then yes, I suppose I'm going to call it a relationship."

"That's the first question answered then. Next?"

"What is it exactly that you don't like to do?"

"Well, it isn't that I actively _dislike_ anything – I haven't tried most of it, never been interested. But I confess I don't like the idea of anything… wet." Sherlock was blushing now.

"So, um, mouths or anything requiring lube would be what you consider 'sexual activity' but anything with clothes on is not? Is that a fair generalization?"

"I guess so," Sherlock looked unsure for the first time that John could remember.

"OK, how about we leave it at 'dry and with clothes on' and if you don't like anything," John shot a sly glance across at Sherlock, "or if you decide you _do_ want something else you just let me know. Other than that we can stick to our original arrangement."

Sherlock nodded.

"Just one other thing," John added. "I'm used to a certain amount of tongue kissing." He grimaced. "Sorry, that sounds awful. What I'm trying to say is that if I open my mouth or try to open yours it's just a kind of habit. I'm not trying to pressure you at all. Remind me if I'm doing it and I'll stop."

There was silence in the flat for a moment as they both digested the implications of the conversation. Finally Sherlock spoke. "So, since you owe me an experiment was there anything else you wanted? I'm prepared to… extend my boundaries of experience."

John pursed his lips in thought for a moment. "How about we start right where we are, with some more cuddling on the couch and let me think about it. I'm sure something will come to me. Er, so to speak."

After several minutes of closed mouth kissing and hands roaming over (completely clothed) shoulders and chests Sherlock hummed into John's mouth. "Mmm, I like this."

John couldn't help himself. He pulled back just far enough to glance down and check Sherlock's trousers. Still flat.

Sherlock sighed. "I didn't mean _that_. John, if you are waiting for _that_ to happen as a measure of my enjoyment you might as well stop it right now. I like kissing you but I'm not sexually excited by it." Sherlock paused for a moment, then added, "And I don't need a visual check to know that you are."

John blushed. "Is that, um, OK?"

Sherlock kissed him lightly, "Of course it is. I want to please and relax you. Tell me what you need."

"I think I'd like to lie down in my own bed and maybe you could, um, finish me off with your hand? God, it's embarrassing to just say it outright like that."

"I don't see why you should think so. Being precise in your requests is more likely to produce the desired results."

"I guess so, it's just so different from all the other relationships I've ever had."

"The ones that have all ended, you mean?"

"Yeah, thanks for pointing that out."

Sherlock's shrug said _it's true_, but all he said verbally was "So, shall we go upstairs?"

The change of venue caused them both to draw back a little and the atmosphere was awkward as they sat on opposite sides of John's bed.

John finally broke the silence with "Maybe we could just cuddle and kiss for a bit and see where it goes. I mean, since you liked that before."

Sherlock lay down on the bed still mostly clothed, having only removed his suit jacket and shoes. He opened his arms and John fitted himself into them, lying half across Sherlock's chest. John kissed Sherlock lightly across his cheekbones and nose and then down to peck him on the lips. They kissed for a while, and Sherlock could feel John's interest rising again against his belly.

He decided Lestrade's advice had been very useful and made a mental note to thank him later. Given John's reaction to the idea of Lestrade being involved at all, preferably out of John's hearing. He closed his eyes, the better to concentrate on his sense of touch and tried to 'go with the flow'. He decided this was a good time to start stroking John's erection. Outside pants or not? Well, John had asked for a hand job so that was probably implied consent for the removal of pants.

Sherlock slowly reached down and lowered John's trouser zip, then flicked open the button. John lifted his hips to allow the trousers to slide down enough to give Sherlock better access. Good decision then. He stroked John through his pants and noted the material getting a wet patch. Definitely a good decision. He slid his fingers into the back of John's briefs to suggest removing them also, and John groaned with agreement.

"Uh, Sherlock? Would you mind taking your shirt off? I feel a bit weird being stripped while you are still practically completely dressed."

"Of course, John. If that would make your more comfortable." Sherlock sat up momentarily to remove his shirt while John did the same. John also took the opportunity to remove all the clothing on his lower half, leaving himself completely naked to Sherlock's gaze. He looked a little self-conscious, but more interested than embarrassed overall.

They lay down together on the bed again, and this time John was definitely interested in picking up the pace. His kisses were more insistent now, with little flicks of his tongue over Sherlock's lips although true to his word, not with enough force to open Sherlock's mouth. He took Sherlock's hand in his and guided it down to his leaking erection, sighing when Sherlock wrapped his long fingers around it.

"Mmm, I like this." John repeated Sherlock's words from earlier in the evening. "Kissing and your hands on me. Do you even know how erotic you are?"

Sherlock shrugged uncomfortably. "I've had people try to 'pull' me, as the saying goes. Both men and women on occasion. I've always pretended I didn't know what they were hinting at."

"Well, I'm not hinting, I'm telling you outright – you are the most gorgeous thing I've ever had in my bed. Now I know, I'm not letting you go."

"I'm not going anywhere, John."

"Promise? Promise me that you won't go anywhere I can't go with you?"

"I promise."

"Ah, yes, touch me just like that…" Sherlock was speeding up his strokes and adding a little twist at the end of each one to focus pressure and pleasure around the frenulum and head of John's cock. John was making helpless little thrusting motions with his hips, which he didn't seem to be either fully aware of or fully in control of.

"Kiss me again now." John gasped.

Sherlock kissed him hard and long, fully on the mouth, while stroking John firmly with one hand and gently cradling his balls with the other. Then he reached back a little further and pressed on the sensitive spot behind John's balls, and John was groaning into his mouth and coming all over his chest.

Sherlock continued to stroke John gently until he flopped over on his back and groaned again. "Oh God, that was good. I needed that. However many hours I have to spend pretending to be dead, it was worth it."

Sherlock wrinkled his nose as he looked at the mess on his chest and started to get up. "I'm going for a shower, then how about we go out for dinner?"

John looked up from where he was lying and grinned. "Sexual activity and then dinner? Is this getting to be a habit with us? It isn't normal, you know."

Sherlock sniffed. "Normal is a dryer setting John. You have ten minutes, then we're going to a new Italian place I want to try. Oh, and you owe me two hours of experiment time."

"You got it."

"Yes, all over my chest, which is why I need a shower! Do try to keep up John." Sherlock grinned and sauntered out of the room in the direction of the bathroom.

John flopped back down on the bed and wondered what he had got himself into. He was in a relationship with an asexual genius who measured the success of sexual encounters in hours of experiment time. He grinned. Ah well, normal was boring anyway.


	4. Chapter 4

**The Body, Chapter 4**

"John! JOHN!"

John looked up from his laptop. "I'm right here, you don't need to shout."

"Yes, well, I need you."

"OK, but it can't take too long. I'm supposed to go to work this afternoon."

Sherlock smirked. "You can take the experiment to work with you."

"What? I… No. No, I can't. I have to be able to work, and I can't do that with my hands in water or my feet in lemon juice or whatever thing you have in mind next." John frowned.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "It's just an experiment with rope marks, John. I need to tie several different kinds of rope around your body at different points and see how the marks develop over the next few hours. It can be under your clothes, no-one will know."

"Oh, OK then." John started rolling up his sleeves and wondering when this became his life.

# # # # # # # # # # # #

John came home from the clinic late and tired. He flopped down on the sofa and sighed.

Sherlock bounced into the room. "You're home. Excellent. Just let me get my magnifying glass and I'll document the rope marks as I remove them."

"Oh good. I'm lucky they have a private bathroom at the clinic. I don't know what anyone would have said if they saw bits of rope tied all over my arms and legs."

"Mmm. Hold still."

John waited patiently as the last pieces of rope came off, and Sherlock jotted notes on one of his endless notepads in his illegible scrawl.

"Right. All done. Do you want your reward now, or this evening after dinner?"

"Later. I'm tired. Can we just ring for Chinese tonight? That black bean and cashew sauce we had last time was good."

Over dinner the conversation was light and easy between them, with long companionable silences. After dinner John made them both tea and he settled down in front of the telly to watch _Top Gear_ while Sherlock checked his website for new messages.

When the show was over, John stood and stretched. "I'm off to bed, want to join me or should I just save my reward time for another day?"

"No, I'm almost done here. You use the bathroom first and I'll meet you in your bedroom."

"So how much reward time am I looking at here anyway? I wore the ropes for eight hours, but it wasn't really all experiment time." John rubbed his wrists thoughtfully. "Does two hours of reward time sound fair to you?"

"More than fair, John. Generous. I was prepared to give you all eight hours." Sherlock fidgeted for a moment, then burst out, "Actually, I've been meaning to ask you if you want to even continue this 'trading' at all. It seems rather silly if we are in a relationship to track the hours we owe one another. Surely you think I should just do 'sex things' with you whenever you want?"

John pursed his lips in thought. "No, I think we should keep this system, on the whole. It works for me to be reminded that this is something you go out of your way to do for me – I don't ever want to take you for granted. Maybe one day we will move past needing it, but for now it helps me to be as… thoughtful of your needs as you are of mine."

Sherlock nodded thoughtfully. "All right. I'll be up in a moment."

When Sherlock arrived at John's bedroom door, John was sitting in the bed leaning against the headboard. "Come here, love. I've decided what I'd like tonight. I'm rather tired, so maybe I could just have thirty minutes of _proper_ kissing and bank the rest for another day?"

"Of course, that's no problem, but are you sure you want to spend your reward time on kissing?"

"Yes, definitely. I've been hankering for some proper tongue kissing, open mouthed French style snogging. That's something you don't usually do, but if you are open to the idea, I'd like to use some of my time to try it out with you."

Sherlock made his way over to sit next to John in bed. "I'm prepared to give it a try." He leaned over and pressed his lips to John's, kissing him firmly. John slid down the bed until he was lying flat.

"Mmm, that's nice," murmured John. "When you're ready, open your mouth and try using your tongue a little. It will be easier if you control the start. Less overwhelming that way."

Sherlock parted his lips and tentatively swept the tip of his tongue across John's slightly separated lips. John opened his mouth a bit more. The next time Sherlock used the point of his tongue to slide a bit further into John's mouth. John gave a deep groan of desire.

"Is this all right?" Sherlock asked. "Is this what you wanted?"

"Oh God, yes." John's erection against Sherlock's thigh seemed to corroborate this opinion.

Sherlock returned to sweeping his tongue through John's mouth, experimenting with depth and swirling his tongue around. John was groaning and panting in a way that suggested Sherlock was doing something right. Sherlock was just running out of ideas and wondering what else to do with his tongue when John decided to take over and show him how an expert does it.

John gently pushed Sherlock over onto his back and sprawled himself half over Sherlock's chest as he continued peppering light kisses all over his face and down his neck. He wandered down with hands and tongue to tease at Sherlock's nipple, then kissed his way back up to Sherlock's mouth and plunged inside. They fenced back and forth lightly with the tips of their tongues teasing each other, until John sighed and flopped down on his back next to Sherlock.

"Mmm, that was lovely. Just what I've been wanting."

"Do you want me to do anything about this?" Sherlock ran his hand lightly over John's hip, indicating his erection without touching.

"No, I'm too tired to enjoy it right now. These late clinic shifts really take it out of me. I'll make you a fresh one in the morning." He winked and snuggled down to sleep.

Sherlock turned onto his side and pulled John's back to rest against his chest and sighed happily. He had never expected this relationship, _any_ relationship, to work out so well. His thoughts wandered idly to other ways he might make John happy. He should probably start by taking the toes out of the freezer before John saw them…

* * *

_A/N: I'm marking this complete, as that's all I have to say about asexuality and this particular version of Sherlock and John, but if anyone has a suggestion they would like to see written send me a message or leave me a comment in a review and I'll see what I can do._


End file.
